feeling better

Somehow, I'm feeling better than I did the other day.  Maybe I'm just relieved that 2009 is almost over.  And tomorrow, my babies turn 15!

when loved ones have money troubles...

With the economy the way it is, there are a lot of folks struggling with money troubles right now.  Whether it's from unemployment, pay cut, mandatory furlough, or simply the increase price of a gallon of milk, it's hard to be hard up.  And although I am immersed in the life of someone with money trouble, I can also recognize that it's hard to be doing okay yourself while watching someone you care about struggle with money.


So what can you do to provide support?  What should you do?


Here are my recommendations, completely based on my own experience.

1. Withhold judgment.  It's tempting to say to yourself, "I can sympathize with Friend X because he's always lived within his means in the past and this isn't his fault.  I don't feel bad for Friend Z because she's always lived beyond her means.  If she'd saved more/shopped less/invested better, she wouldn't be in this situation now."  Yeah, go ahead, feel how you feel.  But do please try to understand.  Having money trouble is bad no matter how or why it's happening.  If someone is used to smooth financial sailing, this new life may feel like stormy and dangerous waters and navigating this life can be extremely unsettling.  If someone has made poor choices in the past, he or she may be more comfortable with the various feelings and processes involved (which helps right now) but also has to deal with feelings of guilt and failure.  Whether or not someone could have made (or could still make) different lifestyle choices, the stress and worry and very real.
   
2. Provide financial assistance if you are so inclined.  Okay, this may be controversial, and certainly don't provide any financial support that you can't afford or that makes you uncomfortable.  You can read all the articles you want that tell you whether you should or should not help your friends and family with money.  You need to go with your heart and your comfort level.  Some people are not comfortable helping someone out with regular bills, although they will help with one-time or short-term needs.  Some examples of this might include car repairs, professional carpet cleaning before the house goes on the market, a storage unit for extra items if your loved ones need to downsize temporarily, paying the fee for your loved ones to talk with a financial advisor or to help their high school senior apply to college.  When my friend had to take a leave of absence to help her son with some legal and medical problems, her parents stepped in to pay her mortgage for six months.  It was short-term financial support, and it allowed her to do what she needed to for her son without worrying about losing her house over it.
   
3. Consider giving gift cards.  When my husband was laid off for the third time in two years seven months ago, one of the sweetest things done for us was that a group of my co-workers each kicked in about five dollars each to get us a $75 gift card for the grocery store.  I hung on to that card for months, knowing that if things got really bad, we could still feed our kids.  And we used it during a spell when I had an annual dry spell in my own pay schedule.  It was hard to give up that safety net, but as I was using it to get groceries, I felt my friends' love and concern all over again.  Gift cards for essentials can be lifelines, but you can also provide gift cards for inexpensive beauty shops and movie theatres.  It's nice to be able to do some things that feel like pampering when stress levels are skyrocketing.  Even a $5 gift card can provide a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread or enough gas in the tank to get to and from a job interview.
4. Recognize that your loved ones may feel like they're falling apart.  I'm very worried.  I don't know what will happen with the house, the car, credit card debts, and so on.  I don't know how the job market is.  I don't know when my husband will find a job or if it will pay enough for us to feel like life can ever be normal again.  I don't know what we're going to do.  I wake up every day wondering if this will be the day we get a foreclosure notice or a lawsuit or even just a bill I wasn't expecting.  I dread the mail.  I start hyperventilating every time the phone rings.  If I see an unfamiliar car in front of the house, I wonder if it's someone with bad news for us.  I go to bed every night glad to have until the morning to have no phone calls from creditors and relieved that I haven't fallen off the deep end.  Don't get me wrong.  I have joyful moments most days--but there's an undercurrent of stress that never leaves me.  Even for a moment.  Every single day.  So if I seem distracted, depressed, or cynical, please don't tell me to cheer up or pull myself together.  I'm doing what I can, every single day.
   
5. Express your concern--but please don't add your stress to ours.  I know my mother loses sleep worrying about us.  But I already feel bad enough.  I don't need guilt about that on top of everything else.  One of the most difficult days was when I was in the copy room at work one day, trapped in the middle of making a thousand copies that needed to be collated into different folders for a workshop I was running.  One of my co-workers asked me how things were going and if my husband had a job yet.  It was nice of her to say, "I'm so sorry.  I hope something comes along soon."  But then she took half an hour of my life telling me all the things I must be worried about.  Most of them were already on my list, but she ended up adding some things, too.  I'm sure she just didn't know what to say, but STOP!  Take a cue from me.  If I want to talk about it, I will.  But it means more than people know when we can at least have a pretense at normalcy for a short while.  Find someone else to talk to about your own fears and concerns about our finances.  And if we don't give you all the details, don't take it personally.  We may be simply trying to protect you from having even more to worry about.
   
6. Help us remember that life does not stop just because we're having money trouble.  While I'd appreciate not having to hear about your annual trip to Disneyworld or how your new jeans cost only $75, I deeply appreciate it when people still talk to me about normal things--kids, spouses, the weather, the annoying administrator at work, etc.  Don't cut off all communication just because you don't know what to say about our financial situation.  We really need our family and friends right now.  This is really, really hard.  But we still need to maintain relationships and know that we are more than just the relatives or friends with money troubles.  One of the things I appreciate the most is that my sister-in-law kept playing online scrabble with me, just like before my husband lost his job.  It helps me feel a sense of normal in a very healing way.  My sister, who called me every week when I was having medical problems, hasn't called at all since my husband lost his job.
   
7. Spend time with us.  We have good friends who have money.  They have taken us to a couple movies and outdoor festivals, and that has been wonderful.  Even better, though, have been the times they've invited us to their home to play dominos and drink mojitos.  This has been the best support.  When we're with them, we laugh and we step outside our reality for just a few minutes.  That gives us strength to return to our reality and get through another day.
   

Christmas Eve 2009

Here it is Christmas Eve.  I've been feeling so stressed, and I've hardly been able to think about anything holiday-related.

I'm behind on all my grading, for one thing.  I've been behind all semester, and it's piled up and I haven't even been able to bring myself to look at it for days.  Of course, there's a deadline next week and I'll be thinking of all the things I could have done differently to be completely finished by now.  It's all waiting for me, and I do have to get it done.  Yuk.  I hate grading papers and calculating final grades.  Most of the time, anyway.

Then there's the whole money thing.  We have always been bad with our money, but this year it's worse than ever.  That's one of the big downsides of hubster's unemployment.  The other downside is that he's accomplishing nothing around the house.  He cooks, and he occasionally carries laundry for me or loads the dishwasher.  But there's no regular cleaning--of anything--and no project work being tackled.  Ever.  My frustration with him and his lack of job and effort is just getting worse.  It seems like we're bickering all the time, and I'm really not sure what to do to hold things together.  I know it's a phase and that we'll get through it, but I really need our relationship to be strong right now and I don't know what to do.

My health has been sucky all fall.  Sinus infections constantly, some virus and now a cough.  And I forgot to refill my GERD meds and have been feeling reflux-y all week.

I feel worn out and worn down, like I'm on a merry-go-round getting dizzy and needing to throw up.  It's not fun.

But I am also mindful of something else: I have my family, and I mostly have my health.  This year, my son plowed into a utility pole.  He could have died or been seriously injured.  He wasn't.  I am grateful for that every single day.  My husband now has a CPAP machine and I no longer have to lie awake worrying when he stops breathing.  And the past two Christmas Eve's, well, they were rough in a whole other way.  Two years ago, I was waiting on results from a biopsy to determine if I had vaginal cancer.  I didn't, and the dysplasia is gone.  Last year, I was preparing to have a major surgery that I have only recently felt recovered from.

So this year, I try to remember that it's a luxury to be able to worry about money and a husband.  I will be heading to Christmas Eve service in a couple hours, with my husband and children, not facing a major recuperation of any kind.

Blessings on us all.

full of s--t

That would be "snot" that I'm full of.  According to my prescription history on walgreens.com, I've been sick since the beginning of October.

First, I was suffering serial sinus infections.  After three courses of antibiotics, my sinus troubles improved, although they didn't completely go away.  Early this week, I started with a sore throat and then began coughing.

I feel like all I've been doing is dealing with mucous--blowing it out, hacking it up, trying not to swallow it.  No matter how much I do with medications, the neti pot, and drinking the right kinds of fluids, it's just "snot" going away.

I feel pathetic.  Ugh.

I really love the movie "True Lies."

Blogging from my phone!

great plains

Today I feel more like the Great Plains--standing in the face of winds and storms but able to endure.

feeling like the appalachians...

...old and worn down.

I'm having a rough time right now.

One of the the casualties of unemployment is what happens inside us--and I'm not just talking about the person who has lost a job.

My husband seems to have lost any inclination he had to act decently to his family.  He assumes the worst of the kids and me, he blames things on everyone, and he's generally growly.  We never know what will set him off.  This weekend it was listening to our daughter try to explain why she was upset with a teacher and became a one-hour walking-on-eggshells experience for us after we watched him yell and our daughter and get right in her face about her tone.  Today, he was looking for his military photo album.  Yes, the kids were the last ones to have it and look at it.  They should have put it back where they'd found it.  However, he never had a designated spot for it in the first place, and he's had six months when he could be going through our very messy living room, bedroom, basement, and back porch to simply organize things.  Chances are, he would have found it then.  Meanwhile, he expects us all to stop what we're doing to meet his needs, and he takes everything as a personal affront intentionally done unto him.

He is constantly cutting me off in the middle of my sentences--even if I am answering one of his questions.  So just a few minutes ago, when I was cut off again (literally, after four words) to turn the power off something for him, I sat down and tried to put my thought out of my mind.  Then when he  finally asked me what I'd been saying and I responded with a quiet "never mind," I got chewed on because he finds it frustrating that I am so easily distracted.  I just can't win.


I spend all my time at home trying to keep him calm, keep the kids quiet, and I just can't do it any more.  I can't imagine what this is like for him.  I sense that if he were to take on any project--whether it be volunteering, cleaning, or exercising--he would be required to accept that he is unemployed.  As long as he can think, "I don't want to commit to something new because I might have a job next week," everything can feel okay.  Yet he spends all day sitting on the chair in the living room--with the laptop on his lap, food in his mouth, and the tv blasting away and his anxiety.

I know he's not at his best.  This has got to be so hard for him.  I worry that he has no structure or sense of purpose to his life, but I have so many moments when I simply don't know how to be a good wife for him anymore.




As for me, I'm stressed, too.  I am having a difficult time at work--trying to get projects done under pressure and with no support, suffering a 3% paycut resulting from mandated furlough days, watching the people I work with on a daily basis get laid off, and seeing general low morale--not to mention that this is the time of the semester I always start to feel stressed anyway since it's the end of the semester.

It is beyond me how we still have our house, our car, our cable, our electricity.  Truly.  How is this possible?  I'm behind on paying every single account we have.  The grace of God has kept us in our home and minimized the sacrifices we've had to make so far.  So why can't I feel greater joy?


I'm halfway into my third course of antibiotics trying to kill this stupid sinus infection.  I have no energy, I'm sleepy all the time, I can't breathe through my nose, and I simply feel like I'm beaten down.  My immune system hasn't completely recovered from my hysterectomy, and I feel like I have nothing left inside me to fight with.

Meanwhile, we have three kids in high school.  We can't give them the things or the opportunities we would like to.  Even the money for college applications is a challenge.  I can't even imagine how it will feel next year to watch our son have to pay for college himself because of our financial troubles.

I just feel that every step I take, I'm facing my own failures--as a wife, as a mother, as a partner, as an employee, as a daughter, as a child of God, as me.

Feeling like the Appalachians does not make me majestic, magnificent, enduring, or beautiful.  It  just makes me old, worn down, feeling like I've been forgotten.

finding purpose

This has been a hard year.  It began with me recovering from a major surgery, one that forced me to think about what it means to be a woman and what my purpose has been.

For months, our finances have spun out of control as my husband has been unemployed.  Some days, it feels like my head is exploding from the phone calls, the mail, the decisions.  I just want to shut down.

Yet, every morning, I wake up and go through another day.  For months, I've been thinking about how so often, it seems that I'm going through the motions of life rather than actually living my life.  It hasn't helped any that I've been experiencing a great deal of stress at work.  I am stepping back from my administrative position and returning to full-time teaching, though, and I have to say that I'm feeling quite relieved and much more centered.

I've been struggling to have a sense of purpose for myself.  With all three kids in high school and headed toward responsible adulthood, I am no longer "Mommy."  I've been struggling to be a good wife during my husband's unemployment,  yet I've been trying to protect myself, too, so I don't disappear.

I've been wondering who I am, why I am here, what I add to the world with my presence.  I have days when it feels like my presence is irrelevant in the world--but then there are moments when I feel like I truly know why I am here on this earth.

I had one of those moments this morning.  I got an email from one of my co-workers asking if she could talk to me this afternoon.  I can't, because I'm home with weird sinus-related symtpoms and a CT scan scheduled for this afternoon.  So I replied with a "What's up?" email.  I then learned that her same-age cousin died overnight and that she just needed a friend to talk to.  I felt so touched that someone thought of me as a source of comfort.

And then I thought about the work I'm doing on HysterSisters, and how although I don't touch everyone, I do touch some.  And I think about what I did with Sidelines, and cub scouts, and brownies.

I've often wondered if something is wrong with me that I can't just pick one thing and have it be my passion in life.  I do something for a while, doing great and then doing okay and then fizzling out.  I'm starting to think that this is okay.  I can give a lot, whether I give in small amounts in many different ways throughout my life or choose to dedicate the span of my life to one thing.  I am a multiplicity, with a multiplicity of purposes, and I think I will try to live purposefully rather than to live to try to find one sense of purpose.    

six months and going

Well, it's been nearly six months six my husband became unemployed--and there are no prospects at the moment.  Every day, I think about all the mistakes we've made--financial decisions, moving here when it meant leaving a good-paying tenured position for me, getting into bad housekeeping habits, etc.  I wake up every morning and have to deal with all my failures.  I have to make difficult phone calls and difficult decisions, all the while supporting my husband through his own emotional response to this situation.

My heart is heavy.  While I know things will be okay eventually, some days it's just really hard.

when is it tmi?

I've had a couple blog entries running around my head recently, but I haven't been able to bring myself to write them yet.  They deal with pubic hair styles and women's perceptions of their, um, private areas.  In order to write about any of this or explain why this is even an issue, I would have to tell a couple stories of my own--about getting older, about getting heavier, about being middle-aged, about trying to spice up my life a bit, about . . . well, you get the picture.

What is TMI (too much information)?  On one hand, I have no problem sharing things about myself.  It's my life and my body and if someone doesn't want to read about it, then they can choose not to.  I would provide lots of warnings--but wouldn't some people choose to read on and then have certain pictures they could never get out of my head?

Although I write here and don't often think about people reading it, I know that they do.  I have the link on my Facebook page, so it's available to all my Facebook friends--friends from gradeschool and high school, colleagues, relatives, my husband's relatives, my kids, my kids' friends, . . .  So then I thought that maybe I should just remove the link from my Facebook page.  But I like having it there, and I like the fact that people who've been out of touch for a while can find out what I've been up to in my life.

So for now, I am refraining from making the pubic public.

Is this the right choice?  Could I write about it in a way that would be entertaining enough to cancel out the TMI factor?  And would that make it okay?  And what about the fact that when I share the story verbally, it's still mine--but when it's on the web it belongs to everyone who links or copies it.

I'll have to continue pondering this, but I'm curious what people think.  What is TMI?

unemployment sucks bigtime

It's been almost five months since my husband lost his job. Our finances are in the toilet, our stress levels are high (even the kids are anxious a lot), and some days I think I've forgotten how to dream.

I know it will come back. I know it's a phase. But right now it just feels rotten. :(

lessons learned at the Wisconsin Highland Games

1. Men in kilts look much more manly than I had ever imagined...
2. ...especially in the heavy athletic events.
3. Some large men who say "but it's all muscle" are telling the truth.
4. Sometimes the caber turns over.
5. Total strangers sitting next to each other on the bleachers can have the most hysterical conversations.
6. A 150-member bagpipe mass band can reach into your soul in an unimaginable way.
7. Sometimes, when a man bends over wearing a kilt, it really is a good thing when it turns out he's not a true Scot.
   

who do I know?

How is it that we can connect so deeply with the people we know only online? And what does it mean to know someone, anyway?

Last week, I talked with someone I hadn't seen in several months. Her daughter has a serious drug addiction that has led to legal problems, a pregnancy, and a probable stay in prison. I asked her what kind of support she is getting, and she went on to tell me about the online support group she'd found for parents of addicts.

In a family that feels dysfunctional in comparison to her friends, neighbors, and colleagues, with her online group, she feels understood in a way that doesn't happen in her daily life. Her friends know she's stressed and worried--but the other parents of addicts really "get" her. They provide an understanding mirror, to help her see the positive coping strategies she's developed and a way of seeing how functional she is in such a difficult situation.

I talked with her about the hysterectomy support website I'm part of and how normalizing it can be to simply have an understanding "me, too" in response to a question or concern.

It really struck me how much I have valued the understanding I get from the people I don't know, but who know me so well.

It hit me again tonight. I was chatting with someone I met through the hysterectomy support site. She recently lost her father, which made her grieve not only that loss but the loss of her mother many years ago. We were in an online chat that lasted two hours. I don't know if I would recognize her if I bumped into her at the mall, but for those two hours, online, I knew her very well. Although her loss isn't all we talked about, it was there, and I gave her virtual (((hugs))) and validated her feelings as best as I could. I think it helped a little.

In this online world, I don't have words for some of my best friends, the ones I know online. When my son had his accident and I posted about it on Facebook, many of the people who immediately responded were people I don't know face-to-face--but they care about me very much.

My mom sees that I currently have 186 Facebook friends. "How many of them do you really know?" she asks. "All of them," I say, "even the ones I've never met."

so how are you doing?

Every year, the end of August is filled with the joy of greeting friends and colleagues I haven't seen since May. This year, I'm finding a little less joy in the reunion. At the end of April, we had our nightmare of car crash/no insurance/job loss. After several months, people who genuinely care about me naturally want to know how things are going. So they ask. And it's horrible.

I got a message from a friend asking me why I was so aloof with her at a meeting yesterday. And here's why.

I'm so sorry, everyone. I'm anti-social because it's just too hard to be something else. You want to know how I am? Really?

I have a hard time answering the question, "How are things going?" because they're not going well. We still have only one vehicle (one that squishes my family uncomfortably), my husband doesn't have a job yet, and our finances suck. I get no paycheck in September, so they're about to suck even more. When you are nice and ask if I'd like to have lunch, the answer is that I'd love to--but unless you offer to pay, it isn't going to happen. Going out to lunch is, well, not in the wallet. And my husband is having a hard time, too, and is sitting around on his butt all day. He applies for jobs online (there's really not much out there) and he makes some phone calls, but he isn't doing any projects around the house and I'm still doing the laundry, loading the dishwasher, etc. When I'm at home, I'm trying to be supportive of him. This is really, really hard when I'm terrified. And I hate being home because when we're behind on bills, we get phone calls that I simply cannot bring myself to answer. The house is a mess, because when I'm at home I can barely drag myself off the couch to function. It's that hard.

My babies are growing up so fast and I feel like my life as a mom is passing me by. My oldest child will be a high school senior, and his younger brother and sister will be freshmen. I don't know where the time has gone, and now it feels like there's so little time left. Is there anything I've done right as a mom? Do I have enough time yet to still make a difference?

And when I seem to brush you off when you ask me how I am, it's because I don't want to burst into tears. It isn't just you. I blew off a good friend's party last week because I couldn't bear the looks of pity from people who care about me or the "and what does your husband do?" questions from people who don't know what's going on. I got trapped in the copy room last week while I was making handouts for a workshop. A well-meaning colleague gave me a half-hour of "I'm so sorry for you" and "Let me know what I can do." What can you do? You can treat me like I'm still me and not like a broke and broken person who has made stupid decisions and is afraid she won't ever get her life back.

So generally, things are not so great, but I've mostly been coping fairly well and am usually able to be positive.You are so sweet, and I know you care, and I just have had to stay superficial with a lot of people because it's the only way I can cope sometimes and because I don't have the words for my frustrations. And see, even writing this has me on the verge of tears that will pour down my face. I hate to cry because each time, I worry that I won't ever stop.

So, that's how I'm doing.

test

I'm trying to figure out if this twitterfeed thing is working for my blog. It makes me a bit nervous (especially because of one of the subjects I've been needing to write about), but there's only one way to see if it works!

would you like some cheese with that whine?

Would it make me sound like a bad wife and mom to say I need to have a place of my own?

I am, by nature, an introverted human being. Being around people (even those I love) is so very draining for me. My husband the extravert needs to be around people and thrives on conversation and sound.

Every since we got married, I've struggled with having time and space of my own. When the kids were little, being with them involved constant togetherness. However, they had naptime and, even when that stopped, they went to bed early. In the evenings after the kids were in bed, home life settled down.

Back then, we didn't have the internet. My husband had the tv on all the time (which completely drove me nuts), but I could generally sit in the kitchen and read or work, and I could sit in the living room and do cross-stitch or read despite the sounds of the tv.

When we moved into the house before this one, we had an extra bedroom with an office. I could spend time in there and recharge myself--even while working. Because the house was a split level and we had the tv room downstairs, I could be cleaning up in the kitchen or puttering around in other rooms of the house in relative peace and quiet.

When we moved here, I lost the time and space for my own place. The bedroom was shared space. There were no extra bedrooms. The first-floor rooms are all small and close together, with entertainment technology all over the place.

Summer has always been a bit of a challenge because there's so much more togetherness with the kids. As they've gotten older, they stay up later, and I no longer have quiet time in the evenings. However, I've generally been able to find pockets of time throughout the day when I can take deep breaths and immerse myself in my self.

This summer has been very difficult. My unemployed husband is around ALL THE TIME. He has had very few interviews, so he never leaves for longer than a quick dash to the grocery store. He is not taking the time he now has to do anything productive around the house, like cleaning the back portch, organizing the junk in the basement, sorting through his closet, etc. He is not reading, writing, walking, etc. So what is he doing? When he's awake, he is in front of the tv (loud volume because of street noise and his middle-aged hearing) with the laptop in front of him. He wants me in the room with him, and because he gets sad and grouchy and depressed when I'm not there (remember, he's an extravert) and it's one thing I can do to be supportive.

But it's really wearing on me. I don't have a single place in my own home where I can sit and just read quietly, recharge my internal batteries, think, write, read, knit, or anything I want to do with quietness. The few days I've tried to spend on the back porch or in our bedroom I've felt like an outcast of sorts. I feel like there is no place for me in my home. The kids all have their own rooms. Doug doesn't want his own space. And when I spend the evening in another room (like, sitting at the kitchen table), he and the kids ask me what's wrong and why I'm avoiding them.

It's because constantly being with even the people I love is more than I can handle!

I don't even have a chair, with my own light, with a magazine or knitting basket next to it. Is it so much to ask to have just one place that can be mine?

lost and found

I've just moved offices. Ever since I came to this campus in 2001, I've been in the English hallway. Several years ago, I got to move across the hall to a lovely big office with a tall window, and I didn't have to share it with anyone. I knew it was temporary, and that as soon as we replaced the faculty member who had been there, I would move again.

But being the packrat that I am (emotionally as well as in the usual sense), I grew roots. All my patterns of being on this campus were grounded in being in that area. My good friends are there. The refrigerator and microwave I use are in the Study Center, just across the hall. My printing goes to the Study Center. I get to see my colleagues' kids when they come visit. I've parked in the same lot for eight years.

Moving, although I knew it was coming, was a reminder of my status on this campus. I'm instructional academic staff, not faculty. Faculty get the good offices; IAS usually don't. If they do, those offices are shared spaces. I've spent the last month mourning my move. I waited too long to begin purging and packing. I refused to think about my new colleague because she represented my displacement. I've been so sad.

Yesterday was the big day. Once I got into my new space and could start settling, it was easier than I had anticipated. I was still sad. At this point, my biggest feeling of loss is related to the window. Come fall, when my colleagues return for a new academic year, I'm sure I'll miss them and my routine all over again. I'll be using a different parking lot and fridge from now on.

During this whole time when I've been anticipating my losses, I had forgotten one important thing: the silver lining. Yesterday, several of my new "neighbors" stopped by to tell me how glad they are that I'm now closer to them. One of my colleagues in a different building came to ask me if I'd like to have lunch with her and another colleague once a week next semester. The secretaries have all said how happy they are that I'm here.

So I'm still feeling a bit lost, but thanks to the relationships I have with people, I'm feeling a bit found, too.

dog bites woman

I've been feeling kind of slumpy lately, spending most of my time lying or sitting on the couch. It's just been so hard to get myself to move. Yesterday, I lay down in bed for an afternoon nap and suddenly decided that I'd had enough. I decided that I should be active rather than nap, so I grabbed my husband and our dog for a quick walk. Because I've been so inactive for so long--especially since my surgery--I said that I wanted to just walk around our block. I figured this was a good starting point, and it was good that we were doing something together.

Halfway around the block, Thor started paying attention to a boxer that was two yards away from the corner. The boxer was running back and forth along its chain link fence in the way that dogs do. Its owner was in the yard with it hosing something down. I saw the dog suddenly run through the open gate and, I thought, head for the front yard. I figured the dog would go to its own front yard and be waiting for us, so I started to turn around to take Thor back the way we'd come. Just as I was about to ask my husband to stand watch for us for a minute, the dog came barreling through the back yard of another home. Next thing I knew, the boxer was latched onto the back of Thor's neck, vicious and snarling with a jaw that wouldn't let go. Because I had Thor on the leash, I was in the middle. I don't know what I should have done, but all I could think of was how I could explain to the kids how their beloved Thor was mauled on their own block. And then I started to think of the veterinary expenses that we couldn't afford. So I grabbed Thor's collar in my right hand and the boxer's collar in my left hand. Finally, I was able to fling the boxer away just as its owner arrived (and Doug was getting ready to kick it). I lost my balance and landed hard on my butt on the sidewalk and then fell over into the grass. It was so embarrassing, but I was so scared and so very angry.

The owner seemed apologetic but didn't offer any information about rabies shots. As I checked Thor over for blood (he was fine, but had huge globs of dog slobber on him), I realized that my right pinkie finger had taken a bite. I took Thor home while Doug waited for the owner to write her name and address. We went to the emergency room so I could get it cleaned out well and because I knew the hospital would call the police who would then verify vaccinations. It was a much shallower wound than I had thought at first.

I have never been so scared in my life. I don't know what in particular scared me, other than the fear of seeing Thor's flesh torn away. I couldn't think clearly at all.

Later, I got thinking about all the times the kids have taken Thor on that same walk and how disastrous it could have been if the attack had happened one of those times, or if a small child had been present and gotten in the way.

The owner did call later to tell us that the vaccinations were current, although I will still be contacting the police to see if they have verification of that.

Today the wound seems okay, but my back is sore and stiff from being jarred. I had to take half of a leftover hysterectomy percocet last night so I could get past the pain to sleep.

is there a word for what you feel when an icon of your youth dies?

There's been so much I've been meaning to update here:

• My husband is still unemployed, although he had a really good interview last week.
• He was diagnosed with sleep apnea and is now on a CPAP machine. He and I are both sleeping better. Looking back, I realize that much of the fog of our life is related to the fact that we've been sleep-deprived for years.
• I feel that I am beginning to re-energize professionally, both in my teaching and in my administrative work.

What's on my mind today, though, is two losses. Today, both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Fawcett's death was expected. She had anal cancer, which is typically caused by HPV. Since that is the cause of the dysplasia I had a couple years ago (and need to get checked for again!), I've felt a special connection to her struggle. I always liked her and was very impressed by her work in "The Burning Bed" and "Small Sacrifices." Watching her strength and courage in the documentary of her cancer struggle last month made me have even greater respect for her.

Jackson's death was completely unexpected and was due to cardiac arrest. He was such an amazing performer. Although there was so much weirdness with him in what we saw of his personal life, his singing and dancing were absolutely incredible, filled with passion and energy and a talent beyond what I will ever see again.

So here I am, watching the CNN coverage of the deaths of the two biggest icons of my youth. I am oddly shaken. It is so easy for people to dismiss the value of the performing arts. Yet when I listen to the people on the news and read my friends' Facebook status updates, it strikes me how good performers reach into our hearts and souls. Although I don't think about Michael Jackson on a daily basis, he was part of the images and cartoons and sounds of my youth. He was part of my culture, and now he is gone.

They were both part of the backdrop of my growing up years, and I feel like a youthful part of me had died with them. I feel much more middle-aged now than I did when I woke up this morning.

May they rest in peace.

reboot camp

When my computer slows down, freezes up, or simply doesn't cooperate, I can press CTRL-ALT-DEL and reboot. I lose none of my programs and usually very little data, yet I get a fresh start. Are there any reboot commands for life? In so many areas of my life--personal, professional, financial, technological--I have lost my focus and sense of direction. I've become a person I never thought I could become. I want to find my joy in life again.

So where do I start? I'm afraid, quite frankly, to start to strip away the things that are bad habits and suck joy from my life. What happens if once I've done this, all that's left is...nothing? What if I discover that the problem is being a mom or wife? How do I begin to reboot my life without losing the basic structure and richness that I have?

There's a part of me that just says this: starting right now, live every detail intentionally and in a way consistent with joy. But I am just not there yet. I haven't lost my capacity for joy, but there is a veil that keeps me from recognizing what gives me joy. I'm intrinsically lazy, so doing housework, trying to figure out how to pay bills, doing my job, etc....ack! I feel great contentment and accomplishment and, yes, joy, when those things are done, but I no longer seem to be able to recognize that things need to be done or motivate myself to even start on things.

So I've decided that this summer, I'm putting myself through Reboot Camp. Today's goal was to commit to doing this publicly. My goal tomorrow is to think about process. How do I want to do this? Give myself a goal every day? Several goals a week? Do I want to have goals at all? Maybe I want to come up with a Chris's Ten Commandments for Pulling Herself Together: Thou shalt spend 15 minutes each day tackling a pile of clutter. Thou shalt spend 15 minutes a day intentionally unplugged from technology and experiencing physical life, simply and intentionally. So tomorrow, I think about how to reboot my life this summer.

two bright spots

My husband has a job interview next week in Madison. The company owner is someone he worked with in his last job, and hopefully this will give him a leg up.

We also found out that the SUV, while severely damaged, was not totaled after all. Initially, they had thought it would need a completely new engine since it didn't start. However, one of their workers forgot this and tried to start it while preparing to move it into sheltered storage for us. It turns out that because Matt had to leave the vehicle on after the accident, the gas had run out and the battery run down. Doug's parents will loan us the money to get it repaired. I have actually been grieving the loss of the vehicle. Even though there's much that I don't like about it, our little Neon is not comfortable for our whole family and it would be nice to have it back--even though that will drastically bump up our insurance rates again.

the kindness of friends

During my hysterectomy experience, I was very grateful for the kindness of my friends. I had people who patiently listened to my tales of aches and pains. They carried things for me, they brought food for my family, they sent me flowers, and they showed me that they cared. Although it wasn't completely easy to accept their gifts, I knew that I could accept them because I didn't actually need them.

At times in my life, I have also been the recipient of the kindness of strangers. One time that particularly stands out was when I was pregnant with my twins and had to spend 3 1/2 months on bedrest. As the primary breadwinner and carrier of our health insurance, we faced a loss of income (I didn't have enough leave accumulated) and an increase in insurance premiums. The nurses at the hsopital adopted our family for Christmas, bringing us boxes of food, toys, and baby items. I was so grateful to those donors, most of them anonymous.

To truly be in need is uncomfortable. With need can come many other feelings--powerlessness, fear, shame, loss of dignity, worthlessness. To truly need is to be vulnerable and naked. To say "I need" is to say "I am scared. I no longer recognize my own life." When that need is met by strangers, we can be comforted by the cloak of anonymity. I can go about my life with an external sense of pride and dignity, even though it may not be what I feel inside.

It is harder for me to accept the kindness of friends when that kindness meets a real need. That cloak of anonymity is not possible, so there is a greater feeling of nakedness.

My friend from work came by tonight with a card from her whole department--and a $75 gift card for the grocery store. I am both humbled and honored. It is hard to think about walking into their office again, knowing that they all know about my difficulties, knowing that at some point, even buying food will be a challenge. At the same time, I feel so loved and cared for.

Perhaps this is a matter of giving up control, of acknowledging that life is bigger than what one person or one family can control. And this is one of the many ways God answers prayers. Our needs are provided for, with a lesson in humility included. It is a hard lesson to learn, but I am grateful to have the choice to learn it.

how can I not be freaked out?

I have no idea, but I'm not yet freaking out about the fact that my husband doesn't have a job. Perhaps I've been so prayed for that there is a buffer around me. Perhaps there is some lesson about what's truly important in life. He has started receiving weekly unemployment checks, and while that doesn't go far enough, it is comforting to know that the system is working right now.

I'm generally feeling pretty relaxed these days--too tired, perhaps, and behind in all my work, but I'm doing okay. I don't know how.

Right now is pretty terrific. I'm sitting on our sun porch. As cluttered as it is, I'm on the couch with my feet up on a table, the smell of my perfectly blooming lilacs blowing in on the breeze and the sounds of mowing and children in the background.

Life is good.

feeling better

My husband seemed to be better today. When I came home from school, he was actually online looking at job postings--something I haven't seen him do yet. He found a position that he was interested in and then realized it was with a company he's dealt with in two of his previous positions. It was the first time he's seemed encouraged since he lost his job, so that was good.

All Wisconsin state employees will be expected to take 16 furlough days over the next two years. As a nine-month employee who is considered 80% for that time, I've been concerned about how that will work. I found out today that all the UW chancellors will be making a case to the governor that faculty and teaching staff should not have to bear a disproportionate share of furlough days, so I'm feeling a bit better about that, too.

I realized this evening that I've been holding together pretty well. I know that I'll physically and mentally feel better once I can break down and cry about all this--but I'm afraid to do that until Doug actually has a job. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll start crying and won't be able to stop. So I made it through another day. Yay.

so hard sometimes

I am so tired of being supportive. I don't even know what it means anymore. We haven't even had to deal with the financial implications of my husband losing his job yet--although it may be a few weeks until his unemployment checks start coming in, for reasons I don't understand. In a couple weeks, I get the last regular paycheck I'll have until October. I can't even think about the finances yet; it's just so overwhelming. He's so depressed. He makes a couple phone calls every day, but with the bad economy, he just isn't getting any nibbles. He's been cooking dinner most nights, but he does no housework at all--dishes, cleaning, laundry. He doesn't take care of regular chores or even special projects. He won't give himself a regular routine, which just contributes to his sense of disconnection. I'm at my most stressful time of the semester, and this semester has been a particularly difficult one for me. And I can't help but think back on all the decision I've made and that we've made and I find myself playing the "should've" game--we shouldn't have moved here, because then I would have a much higher-paying job with tenure--we shouldn't have bought the SUV, which I never thought we could afford in the first place--we shouldn't have gotten married, because then I wouldn't have to be worried about my kids and how they'll handle all this.

I'm so frustrated, and I don't know what to do. Meanwhile, he sits home all day, playing on my work laptop (which really, really pisses me off). Not only do I still have all the work to do around the house, I can't do my schoolwork because he's following me around like a sad puppy. And then I feel guilty for being self-centered. And the only thing I can think of is to come up with some clever paypal campaign to ask people to contribute to our efforts, but I can't even figure out how to do that.

Thanks for listening.

moving forward?

I'm actually feeling okay. I'm not worried or anxious. Quite frankly, this has me a bit worried. I've been so grateful for all my friends, virtual and otherwise, who are sending me good wishes and bringing me cards and things to brighten the day.

Doug isn't doing so well. Although he seems less depressed and sad this week, his temper is quicker this week. I know this is totally normal, but it makes it hard to feel good about being home. He hasn't started getting unemployment checks yet, and I wish that would get underway. It isn't much, but it helps some.

We had our remaining vehicle repaired last week. We had to get some alignment sensor replaced, as well as the tires and a seatbelt buckle. At least we have a reliable vehicle again. I'm in mourning for the Expedition, which is odd since I never liked it. Go figure.

I may be teaching a Facebook class for our continuing ed folks this summer. I doubt that it pays much, but it's something that would be fun and that I can look forward to.

no words for my feelings

This is a hard, hard week for our family. How do we struggle? Let me count the ways:

1. My son drove the SUV (our primary family vehicle) into a utility pole. It was entirely preventable. He wanted to see how fast he could go. Now he knows.
2. When I bought our insurance policy a couple years ago online, I neglected to get collision insurance. I thought it was covered under comprehensive. My husband was working incredibly long hours, at the beginning of an extremely difficult year during which I rarely saw him and when I did he was exhausted. I intended to have him look over the policy and forgot. Big oops.
3. The body shop got to $16,000 worth of damage and stopped counting. The SUV is dead, and we're only half-way through the expensive payments.
4. My husband was laid off yesterday--the third layoff in just over two years.
5. On the way to the body shop yesterday, our car stalled with some kind of transmission problem. We got it started again, but it was touch and go for a couple minutes.
6. Summer is always an impossible time of year for us financially, as I don't get a regular paycheck then.
7. Yesterday was our anniversary.
   
8. Blah.

1. 
2. 
   
3. 

the big arms of God, part 2

How ironic that I wrote my last blog post about how the internet allows us to nurture and support each other. At that time, I was thinking about how the internet has allowed me to offer support to others. Little did I know that I was also writing about how those others can in turn support me.

Tonight, my son drove the SUV to a place he hadn't been, one town over. I've had an uneasy feeling about it all day, but I couldn't figure out why. He's been a good driver. He had to call several times on the way there because he couldn't find the place, but he eventually made it. I was incredibly relieved when he called to say he was on the way home. Around the time I was expecting him back, I got the call: "Mom, I had an accident." As hard as this was to hear, it was better than, "Ma'am, your son has had an accident."

Matt was anxious to get home and was taking a turn at 40 mph instead of the posted 25. He hit a utility pole. We have no idea what the damage is. And stupid, stupid me. Several years ago when I set up this account, I got the coverage we could afford to pay at the time. I fully intended to have Doug look at the coverage and update it if needed, but I completely forgot.

So our primary vehicle is undrivable and is being towed (as soon as the utility pole is repaired). I have no idea how we'll begin to pay for it. But my baby is okay.

While Doug was on the way to be with Matt, I quickly posted something on Facebook:

My son has had an accident, hitting a utility pole. Sounds like the car is totaled, but he is okay. Police car and fire truck are there. He's very shaken up. His dad's there with him now.

Within half an hour, eight of my friends had posted good wishes and prayers for us. These included the friend who used to babysit my kids, a woman I work with, my brother and his friend, and four women from HysterSisters who I've never actually met before. What a wondrous support. I am freaked out but feeling so supported and loved.

the big arms of God

I said it on Facebook. I said it on Twitter. I'll say it here:

I continue to be awed by the way the internet allows us to expand our capacity to nurture and support our fellow humans.

Our species, I think, is not intended for solo life. We are part of community; we need community. When I am grieving or festering or bouncing off the walls, there is nothing so centering to me as the physical presence of a friend. Having the arms of someone who loves me (or even the arms of a total stranger) wrapped around me is such a deep comfort. Seeing into someone's eyes, seeing a smile, hearing a chuckle, and just being with a person can heal.

I have moved away from the town in northwestern Illinois where I grew up, as have most of my friends from that time. After earning my master's degree, I moved to the St. Louis area to teach. My husband and I stayed there for eleven years. We married, had children, had careers thrive and shrivel, joined church communities, and did all the things a young family does. When we moved to southeastern Wisconsin, the hardest thing was disconnecting from the physical presence of people we loved and who loved us. We stayed in touch through email with some. Here, we have new friends, and we have been supported and loved here as well.

Yet I am intrigued by how the internet gives us different arms for reaching out, to hold and uphold others. The hysterectomy support website I am part of, HysterSisters, is a big part of my thinking about this. HysterSisters has over 160,000 registered members, most of whom have drifted away as they have healed and resumed normal lives. Last night, however, we had a live online chat. Approximately 25 women, none of whom had ever met in person, gathered together through the internet to share experiences, fears, laughter, and joy. We laughed out loud together, in our own homes, at the silly typing errors we made. We cried with a young woman who faces cancer. As our fingers flew across our keyboards, we joined together in support and nurture. It was a powerful experience.

The internet has also helped me be with friends in their struggles. I've reconnected with someone I trusted enough to babysit my children. As she struggles with infertility and surgery, we chat online to realize that good friendship never goes away, even when friends move. Another friend is drowning under waves of family and professional stress. I have been honored to read her messages and send cyberhugs. And one friend, a HysterSister I've never met, informed us through our shared website that her husband had suddenly passed away. Through the internet, many of us have been able to reach out, to encourage, to cry with her, and to accompany her on her new journey from afar.

Although there is nothing that comes close to physically being with someone, the internet is so very powerful. Unlike a letter or email, that I read when I receive it and then cry in response to a friend's sorrows, the immediacy of the internet allows me to cry with them. And when I share my own struggles, I know that I will be lifted up by friends around the world. And that, my friends, is one of the ways God wraps His big arms around us.

cemetery musings

The black marble has been carved into the shape of a tractor tire. On one side of the stone are the names and birthdates of my husband’s parents, the date of their wedding, the cross-and-flame symbol of the United Methodist Church, and a picture of my father-in-law’s beloved John Deere tractor. On the reverse side are the names of others I love: my husband, my three children, my brother-in-law, and his children. It is the gravestone for two people who still live, although time and health will change that all too soon.

I have always had a fascination with cemeteries. There is something very sobering and life-affirming about walking through a cemetery. I look at the very old stones, thinking about people living full lives so long ago. Or maybe I think about the shortness of their lives as I see the birth and death dates of children or of young women who surely died in childbirth. I am struck by the overlapping of lives; people come and go, all part of this one same community.

In the farmland of central Illinois, the windows blow in from the west, picking up power across the plains. The cemetery is at the edge of town, between the state highway and the corn and soybean fields that have sustained this town for generations. It is a community I married into. I still feel like an outsider, although I have been welcomed with open arms.

My daughter is also fascinated by cemeteries, especially the very old stones and clusters of graves of people in the same families. Yesterday we drove down to the farm. My husband’s brother lives there with his family—the third generation of Taylors to live there. Typically when we come down, it’s a big occasion, with all sorts of relatives gathering because we don’t see them very often. The original plan was that tomorrow, Easter Sunday, would bring my mother-in-law’s family all together. Sadly, her brother died last week and all the relatives are traveling to Connecticut for the funeral. So this time, it’s just us with my brother-in-law and his family. As a result, this is a very low-key and laid-back visit. Instead of having to make preparations for a huge family gathering of 20 people, it’s just our two families and we’ve had a lot more down-time than usual. My daughter asked me to take her to the cemetery so she could look at the stones.

After I pointed out the graves of some of her ancestors and relatives, Becky wandered off to look for old gravestones. I stayed with the relatives and remembered the people I’d known and regretted the fact that I had never known a few of the relatives buried there. I thought about how my husband and children were part of this community. Their names were on someone’s gravestone, and they were connected to these people. I, on the other hand, was not. I was a visitor, a passerby. But then I looked around at some of the names. I realized that I had written thank-you notes for my wedding shower and baby shower gifts to many of the women buried there. In fact, some of the dish towels I received from those women are worn but still in use in my kitchen. At that point, I realized that even though I wasn’t part of this community, the community was part of me.

As I looked back at my in-laws’ gravestone, I realized that I was part of this community after all, if only in a peripheral way. Every time my mother-in-law shared a story about our life events—pregnancies, job changes, baptisms, school events, health issues, and more—our lives became part of the fabric of the community. My children are Taylors—a family that has been here more than 100 years. We helped pay for the stained glass window in the narthex of the church—finished just the week before our wedding.

I stood in the cemetery yesterday at the age of 44, feeling very sobered. For a few moments, I felt more connected to the history of the community than to the present and future. My life is more than half over, and there are times I wonder if I’ve made any difference at all while I’ve been here and if there’s any time left to make up for lost opportunities. Then I looked at my 14-year old daughter in her young woman’s body, with all the hope of the future in her soul even while she looked back into the past. And I knew that there in the place of loss and permanence was the miracle of life and living. Right next to the gravestones marked with my family’s names, where I will bring flowers in just a few years, were two graves where someone had hung windchimes. I untangled the windchimes and listened to the beautiful music brought to this cemetery by the winds from the west and knew that we make a difference one moment at a time.

reality bites

I've found lately that I'm really disturbed by many reality shows.

I religiously watched the first three seasons of MTV's Real World.  I reluctantly watched the second half of the first season of Survivor and got hooked for the next two years.  I felt guilty and voyeuristic at every episode, so I made sure to critically analyze the changing relationship dynamics of these total strangers who lived together and competed against each other in various ways.  It was fascinating for a time, but it didn't keep my attention long-term.

Then we came into an era of American Idol.  I watched five minutes of it and got bored.  Fear Factor?  Ick.  Then there were shows about nannies, and I've never understood the appeal of them.  Is it to make us see how much worse it could be so we'll feel better about our own lives and our own choices?  I really don't get it.

Recently, my husband has begun to watch a couple shows that really disturb me.  The name of one escapes me now, but it's kind of a Candid Camera show.  People are presented with a contrived situation that forces them to make a difficult decision.  The other one is Wife Swap.  I've been trying to figure out what bothers me so much about them, and it's this: they change people's lives.  The Candid Camera-type show had one situation in which people witnessed racial discrimination at a fast food place, and the idea was to see whether they would join in, walk away, or stand up against it.  Some situations require a great deal of courage to do the right thing.  When people do what they feel they should in a difficult situation, it takes something out of them.  Likewise, many times it's hard to find the strength and courage to do the right thing--in which case someone has to live with that knowledge.  Creating that situation intentionally, with the purpose of forcing someone to have this experience that they have to live with, feels wrong.  It's one thing to have a reality show that people choose to participate in; it's entirely something else to put them into a situation that could harm them emotionally.

Wife Swap is the same thing, except here, the adults do have a choice.  The kids don't.  Two completely different types of women move in with the other one's family.  For the first week, they follow the existing rhythms and rules of the family's life.  The second week, they put their own guidelines in place.  Twice, I've seen a swapped mom make a kid give away a cherished object.  I just do not think that's okay.  Meanwhile, the husband and the kids are learning some new ways from the swapped wife as they develop new ways to see their lives.  This isn't necessarily bad--but after the wives return home, what happens?  The woman has had her ways validated by watching the other family benefit from her guidance.  Meanwhile, her own family has undergone changes.  How can a show do this to families?

t truly bothers me that there is an industry that makes money by damaging lives.

traffic deaths

I just saw an article on CNN that says that traffic deaths in 2008 were the lowest they've been since 2008.  Somehow, I don't think that is any comfort to the families of the 37,313 people who were lost.  One of those lives belonged to the nine-year old child of some people we used to know from Cub Scouts.  Does it help his parents to know that their child was part of such a wonderful statistic?

boys really are weird

Son #2 just informed that he can crush a soda can against his head, suggesting that I am supposed to be impressed by that accomplishment.

He is now telling me all the things that taste better with bacon.

hair

I often do my tweezing in bed. I'm relaxed and I can hold the mirror close to my face (a necessity with my aging eyes). So there I was the other night, lying in bed and examining myself in the mirror. I realized that the gray hairs are increasing in number. Whereas I used to be able to say that I had a few stray grays, now I'm close to saying that I'm starting to gray. I tweezed one of the longer hairs to get a closer look. It was stunningly silver.

But now what? Do I color? Do I stay natural?

Years ago, I worked with a woman who had straight waist-long hair that was more gray than brunette. She always looked old and tired. At the end of one summer, she returned to campus looking 15 years younger, having had her hair cut and colored. I had never realized how much difference hair length and color could make.

One of my current colleagues had long hair that she had colored dark since before I'd known her. Last year, she began to go natural. Her hair is now a beautiful white and it is now chin-length. It looks spectacular. I think she looks younger for having made this change.

Is a hair color decision a statement, or is it just a matter of style? If I color, am I saying that I care about how I look? Is this okay? Does it say that I'm vain? Does it say that I want to look younger, or that I care whether other people might think I look old? Does it say I'm superficial? On the other hand, if I go and stay gray, does it suggest that I don't care about myself at all? Does it say that I'm lazy, or cheap, or old, or boring?

My mother-in-law and her mother both color their hair. I asked my father-in-law about it once, and he said that he doesn't care if his wife colors her hair, that it's her choice. She, on the other hand, says that when she started going gray he suggested that she color it because he wasn't old enough to be sleeping with a granny. I love my mother-in-law and her mother. But at a certain age, does it really make us look younger? Does anyone really think that my husband's grandmother is younger than 85 just because she has auburn hair? Come on.

My mother, on the other hand, wears no makeup and doesn't color her hair. I grew up in a family that avoided doing anything artificial or superficial. The only reason I got my ears pierced is that my dad was in Germany for the summer and wanted to get my mom some nice jewelry. The only thing he could find was pierced earrings, and Mom took me along to the ear-piercing store when she got hers done.

So maybe my decision is not about whether or not to color. Instead, my decision needs to be about whether it even is a decision or if it's just a matter of style.

activia

Is it me, or does it feel a bit it weird to watch Jamie Lee Curtis hawking Activia yogurt and interviewing women about their digestive regularity?  I think I would feel even ickier if I didn't find myself thinking that maybe I should start eating Activia.

Is this what it was like for another generation when June Allyson was in Depends commericials?

pondering womanhood

I've been struggling to come up with something to write about that does not involve my hormones, my now-absent uterus, my ovaries, or even my husband and children. In wanting to write about my life as a woman, these are the things I've written about because these are the things on my mind. But I've been thinking a lot about the wide range of womanhood and womanliness.

I have several friends who have dealt with infertility--some choosing to adopt and some going through painful and emotionally agonizing years of infertility treatments of one kind or another. They are no less women for having not given birth to children or raised children. So when I write about my children, who I connect so closely with my own sense of being a woman, am I implying something about the womanhood of someone who has not had this experience?

I think about my husband. I have a good friend who is the person I vent to about husband stuff. Every "stupid husband" joke that comes around, we end up forwarding to each other. Having my husband is part of how I've become the woman I am--but I still felt like a woman before I met him. Today I found out that one of my hyster-sisters and facebook friends lost her husband unexpectedly. She is no less a woman for having been widowed. The mother of my daughter's friend is also widowed, and she notes on her facebook page that facebook doesn't have a relationship status for "widowed." When I write about my husband, then, am I implying anything about women without husbands?

I still have my ovaries, even though they're not very cooperative. For the past 30+ years, the rhythms of my hormones have helped define how I am a woman. My emotions, my bleeding, my pregnancies, my sexuality, and my hysterectomy have all been connected to what my ovaries have done. Is a woman who has been castrated (had her ovaries removed) any less a woman? There was a fascinating book I read once about the relationship between humans' awareness of time and a woman's cycles. When I write about ovaries and hormones, am I implying anything about women without them?

How do I write about what it means to me to be a woman without implying that I am speaking about all women or that women without my experiences are something other than woman? And what does it mean about a female I once knew who has now become legally and surgically a man?

What makes a woman? Is it strictly DNA? Is it the organs we're born with? Is it a set of experiences? Is it what we do with our lives? Is it simply saying, "I am a woman"?

Maryville

Early in the morning on December 31, 1994, I gave birth to twins after spending 3 1/2 months on bedrest. My babies were born at Anderson Hospital in Maryville, IL. We lived in Troy, another small town just a couple miles east of Maryville. At midnight, the moment when 1994 was gone and 1995 was born, I stood in my hospital room, grateful that my bedrest ordeal was over and wondering how I would manage to take care of two infants and a preschooler. My babies were in the nursery, and I was having a cup of tea as I gazed out the window at large fluffy snow flakes falling down. Past the parking lot and across the field, I saw the lights on at the First Baptist Church of Maryville, IL. I was comforted by the fact that there was a church with me as I began 1995.

As my children grew, we made plenty of trips to the hospital for surgeries and broken arms. Over time, we saw a new building grow. The Baptist Church was constructing a new facility, right there on the highway. Every time we went to the hospital, we saw the building's progress. Every time I drove to Walmart or Target, I drove past the church and past the hospital. The year before we moved away from the area, the church building was finished and we saw cars and people there, using the building to serve the people of the church.

This morning, in that church we watched grow, next door to the hospital where I brought two of my babies into this world, a man from Troy, the town where we'd lived for eight years, walked into the church. He lifted his gun and shot the pastor in the chest, right through the pastor's Bible. Two men from the congregation tackled the gunman while others screamed and prayed. The pastor, the gunman, and the two men from the congregation were taken to the hospital next door, which was not equipped to deal with most of the injuries. So even with a hospital so close, the men were airlifted to a hospital in St. Louis, where the pastor died of his wounds.

I've looked through the articles and watched the streaming video. So far, I have recognized no one involved. Yet somehow, I recognize them all. We most likely know people who go to that church. Our own church, with many people we love, is just down the road, on the same highway. It could have happened there, just as easily. It didn't, but it could have.

My heart is aching.

hormones, at my age?

Life has been feeling weird lately. My surgery and initial recovery are behind me. I still have aches and pains and occasional swelling, but I’m not having to be so careful about everything and I generally feel like my days can proceed normally.

At the same time, though, I’ve been feeling completely exhausted. I have no mental or emotional energy to do anything, and physically I just can barely drag myself around sometimes. I can’t concentrate, and I’m forgetting things. Although teaching is going fine, the administrative part of my job has been suffering. It feels like everything is an insurmountable mountain—if I even remember that it’s something I’m supposed to do. I’m not sleeping well, either. It’s hard to fall asleep, and even then I wake up frequently. I feel jittery all the time, and I’m just feeling wiped out.

The other day I was talking with my supervisor. It was very hard to admit how much I was struggling, every single day—especially when I’m in the middle of two big projects and have my annual review scheduled in two weeks. But this is one of those situations where having the difficult conversation was the right thing to do. For one thing, I acknowledged to her that it must be difficult for her to have to be having this conversation with me. Somehow, that was good, because after that our conversation felt more genuine and collegial. The other good outcome is that I realized that something was not right with me and I told her I would be contacting my doctor.

My doctor is leaving the practice next week, but I was able to get in to see her yesterday morning. As we went through a list of all the troubles I’ve been having, we got looking before my surgery and into the past couple of years. Everything I’ve been struggling with is a symptom of ovaries shutting down. It’s possible that this happened in response to the ablation two years ago and that the symptoms have been exacerbated by the hysterectomy. Some symptoms have been masked for several months by other medication I’m on. I had four tubes of blood drawn yesterday, and they’ll be tested for a variety of hormones. Meanwhile, I’m now on day 2 of estrogen pills.

I feel really odd about this. When I was first facing my hysterectomy, I somehow felt like it was all okay because I wasn’t losing my ovaries, just my uterus. I don’t know why this mattered, but it apparently did to me. And now I’m feeling like I’m old and dried up at the age of 44. At the same time, though, I can’t begin to express my relief that this was physiological rather than psychological. I was thinking I was crazy, and learning that my brain fog and fatigue could be part of a larger condition was very healing emotionally.

I’ll go back to see another doctor in the practice in two weeks, and we’ll discuss my blood tests and figure out how long this whole estrogen routine will last. I hadn’t even gotten around to thinking about my views on HRT, and here I am.

onions have layers

I've been thinking a lot about the layers of my life.  Just like Shrek, I have layers.  Somewhere there is a core of me.  It has been covered up by so much of my life that I've forgotten who I really am.  And I've wondered if I got down to the core, would that person still bear any semblance to me?

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about how all these different layers of my life intersect with each other, how some layers have been peeling back a bit to expose bits and pieces of all these layers to form a newly emerged version of me.  It's so late and I'm too tired to be articulate about this now--but I needed to put the words somewhere so I don't lose them.

I'm trying to figure out how to write about this, since I don't even have it figured out yet.  I had thought of explaining who I used to be and how that all got covered up.  That was feeling too negative, though, and I don't want to be negative.  So I'll come back to this and talk about the peeling back of layers--through my medical issues, through my iPod, and through Facebook.

another episode of "boys are weird"

My 16-year old son and his two best friends are sitting in the same room as me talking about pubic hair and wrestling and Keira Knightley. I don't think these three subjects were part of the same conversation, but I can't be sure.

I have learned the lesson of invisible motherhood. When my children are with their friends, I prefer to be silent and listen. I learn much (maybe too much) about them.

not my bladder study

Back  in October I had a urodynamics study.  It was incredibly embarrassing, and I was quite upset that they didn't find anything that could be dealt with during my hysterectomy.  At one point, I found myself growling something along the lines of, "Why the @#! did I have this study done if they weren't going to find anything?"  Today I found out.

One of my co-workers is facing some major health issues right now, with the probability of a degenerative neurological disorder.  I stopped by her office to check on her today and she told me she was nervous about a test she is having Tuesday.  Because her bladder has been affected by her medical condition, she will be having a urodynamics study.  As soon as I realized that she was describing the same test I'd had done, I was able to describe the procedure for her and stress how much dignity I was treated with.  Even though I fainted and I was really embarrassed at the time, I felt that I was treated very well.  She was so reassured by this, and by knowing that someone really knew what this test was like.  At that moment, I felt like there had been a purpose for me to go through that.  For me, the test was just about deciding whether to add an extra step to my surgery.  For her, the test is part of a whole change in her life and it has major implications for her future.  It made me feel good to have a difficult experience for me serve a purpose.

yikes

My son got his driver's license today.  His first trip was to drive to the store to pick up hot dog buns.  What an exciting journey.

tattoo

I've decided on my tattoo. It is the Celtic symbol for the phases of womanhood: maiden, mother, and crone.

what I've learned from my hysterectomy support website

I’ve gotten totally addicted to my hysterectomy support website. I’ve learned some things.

1. The internet is mostly wonderful. I have no one in my face-to-face life to talk with about my hysterectomy, at least not someone who has been there and truly know what the experience can be like. Yet online, I’ve found women who have experienced the same gynecological and recovery issues and I am very much not alone. If I didn’t have these women to “talk” to, my doctor would have banished me from her office by now with all the questions and concerns I’ve had.

2. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be in recovery. With this support website, my primary identity is that of hysterectomy patient. At some point, I will no longer require the support of the women on this website. However, I feel such a pull to the sense of community I’ve found there. Will I be tempted to stay there simply to stay connected? Will I now perceive every twinge and experience through the lens of hysterectomy simply so I can justify the continuation of identifying myself as a hysterectomy patient and justify my presence on that site? This is teaching me something about some of my students who struggle with addictive behaviors. The value and attention that comes with an addiction or disorder can be, in itself, addictive. In some cases, perhaps the biggest barrier to recovery is not the loss of the behavior but the loss of the identity. I know this is probably obvious to most people, but it just isn't something I've thought much about. Now I just need to figure out what that suggests about how I should interact with some of my students.

3. I have something to offer. In addition to getting the support I’ve needed, I’ve gained a lot from the responses I’ve given to other women. I’ve come to realize that I’ve been missing this in my own life. So now I need to think through what I want to do to be more giving and how to share my experiences in a way that is helpful. I’m not sure what path this will take, but somehow I’ve been given the opportunity to tap into something that has been buried within myself for many years.

4. The internet is not life. Surgery is not life. Even my late uterus was not life. Life is life, and I have one chance to live it.

clean towels

It seems that my family never has clean towels. Even after I wash a load of all the towels I can find in the bathroom and the laundry room, we still have less than ten.

Last night, I walked into my daughter's room to put some clean laundry on her bed. A quick glance showed six towels on her floor. I called her upstairs immediately and asked her to gather the towels up to take to the laundry room. When I said that I'd seen six, she responded, "That means that there are probably ten. The record was fourteen." It seemed that each towel she picked up revealed two or three underneath. She ended up finding a total of 21 towels in her room.

When she takes a shower, she wraps one towel around her body and one around her hair. Since she showers at night, the wet towels somehow end up staying in her room and then she forgets to take care of them in the morning.

So in a few minutes I'm headed downstairs to see how many towels can fit into the washing machine at one time.

rough week

Wow. Working even part-time was hard this week--and I don't even have a hard job. I didn't have to teach today, so I spent all day on the couch. I'm a bit less tired than I was earlier in the week, but I've had to take my percocet two nights this week and I had some mild pain again today. For the past several hours, I've had a killer headache. At least it's a regular problem and not a surgical one.

My co-workers are the most wonderful people in the world. We haven't had to cook all week. We've been given a lot of pasta dishes, but they're yummy. We've had lasagna, macaroni and cheese, a spaghetti casserole, and a chicken pie.

I've had no energy, but I've found that I am enjoying being back at school and into a routine again, even though it's hard.

Today I watched the Blagojevich coverage. Although I live in Wisconsin now, I lived in Illinois for the first 36 years of my life and my parents and in-laws still live there. This must be so hard for his family.

Last night there was an open house at the high school for next year's freshmen, which include two of my own children. As next year's chair of the Site Council (kind of an advisory board consisting of parents, administrators, faculty, and students), I was there to talk with new high school parents. Fortunately, we had a place for me to sit in the computer lab and show people our updated website. It was nice to focus on something outside myself and still be comfortable. We live a block away from the high school, but I still drove. There are still some icy patches, and although I probably could have gotten there okay, I knew I would be tired coming home. My husband walked around with the kids.

I'm looking forward to the Superbowl on Sunday. Neither of the teams I like is in the game, so I'll enjoy eating and watching commercials. I'll be feeling good enough to make some of our food. I don't think we're having anybody over, but I enjoy just being with my family, too.

Tomorrow will be a strange day. I have just one class in the morning. The students will be writing an in-class practice paper, so all I need to do is sit while they work. But then I have a department meeting at 1. Maybe I'll try to clean my office. I have the best job to dress for. I can go to work in jeans and tennis shoes if I want, and if I wear a school sweatshirt I feel totally appropriate. I'm glad I don't have to wear heels!

back at work/pants on fire

It's been four weeks since my surgery, and I returned to work today part-time. I'll be teaching two courses, and in two weeks I'll return full-time to my administrative duties as well.

This morning was interesting. I arrived at 7, made a couple handouts, watched to see how long it would take Outlook to update (I lost track), made coffee even though I realized all my coffee is stale, and got ready for the one class I was teaching today. Class went fine, and I'm actually ready for the whole week. As I went to check my mail and walked through the halls, I had so many people giving me hugs and wishing me well and telling me how great I look. I felt so loved, and that was wonderful.

I left home at 7 am and returned at 11. How can four hours have exhausted me so much? I walked slowly, but I definitely was walking more than usual. I was totally vertical, with no reclining. The institutional floors are harder than the floors at home. I came home, heated up a can of soup, and I haven't gotten off the couch since I got home three hours ago. I feel totally wiped out. However, I do not feel like I'm in pain, which I had worried about. I feel a bit swollen and tender inside. I have a night class that meets once a week on Tuesdays. Enrollment was low, so I haven't done any of the course preparations since I figured it would be canceled. Over the weekend, we picked up enough other students that I will be spending the day tomorrow working on the course. It will be nice to have a sense of purpose to the day, anyway.

I'm on the superintendent's advisory council for our school district. We have our monthly meeting tonight. I am going to take a nap and see how I feel later, but since the meeting will be for an hour and a half on wooden library chairs, I will have no qualms about not going if I don't feel much improved after my nap.

My son came home today with a strange look on his face. Today was his last day of finals, so he and his buddies ended up at one of the guys' houses to play some Wii. Apparently, someone in the family had vomited in the Wii room a couple days ago, so they lit candle to help them deal with the remaining smell. Stupid boys--they put the candle on the floor! Matt said that his leg felt warm. When he looked down, his pants were on fire! He has a big burn hole and the bottom of his pant leg, and his socks and ankle have char marks on them. He totally freaked out and was very happy to be home to tell me about it. To celebrate his survival (he's 16 and tends to exaggerate), we ordered subs from Jimmy John's and had a nice lunch today.

chocolate and antiquing

Today was the first day of my daughter's period, so we took our monthly trip to the chocolate shop downtown. She got a chocolate rocking horse, and I got a sampling of several different small chocolates. Then we went across the street to the antique mall. We looked at cookie jars and double-boilers, but we ended up getting a cookbook from 1965. My daughter has recently begun doing a lot of baking, and she enjoyed seeing all the different tips and techniques as well as foods that don't show up in modern cookbooks.

My city has a winter festival every January called Janboree, and it's this weekend. We live right across the street from the best sledding hill in town that has a toboggan run at the top (you can see it at toboggan run (http://www.janboree.org/event03.html) ), and this park is the place that Janboree kicks off. I'm sad that I won't be able to do any sledding this winter, but I enjoy watching all the sledders out of my kitchen window. There's someone doing an ice sculpture, there's a chili cook-off between the fire department and the police department, and there will be fireworks this evening. It's such a treat to get to see fireworks in the middle of winter.

I'm a bit achy from the antique store, but I've enjoyed feeling a bit more normal than usual today.